Borderline
by crazyundeadfairy
Summary: Cynric's aim isn't quite as good. Lancelot's is.
1. Part I

He had been half-aware of the blonde brute while he struggled with more pressing opponents, but even so the blow caught him completely off guard. The feeling was more intense than one of Dagonet's punches; in that instant all of the air rushed from his lungs and his entire chest burned as though he'd been slammed against the fortress walls.

The shock of the blow had not even hit Lancelot completely, but he could already feel his legs giving way. Before his balance was thrown off too completely, Lancelot hurled one of his blades at the Saxon, his aim true and the tip sinking into the man's chest several inches. Deep enough that Lancelot was certain the other man would not be walking away from it.

Lancelot's own chest felt numb. As he stumbled to his knees, his eyes scanned the battlefield frantically, desperate to catch sight of Arthur. He could not fade if Arthur continued to live; the man would be utterly useless without him.

A thick cloud of smoke was momentarily thinned by a sudden gust of wind and in that moment Lancelot watched as Arthur killed the Saxon leader. Arthur was still alive.

"Arthur..." Lancelot groaned as he fell onto his side.

It felt as though lightning was coursing through his entire body, entering through the thick wooden shaft stuck in his chest. And though it would have been so easy to simply fade from it all, he hung on, using the pain to tether himself to the world around him.

"Better for you to simply die now," a deceptively sweet voice murmured through the darkness that clouded his vision. "Better that you die now rather than linger on. He will accept it easier if you do not linger."

All that he could do was let out a gurgling scream as the arrow in his chest shifted suddenly. He scrabbled weakly to grab hold of it, but his hands simply floundered about. As the arrow moved again he screamed, louder than before and he managed to choke out a single word.

"ARTHUR!"

The whole of his consciousness flittered in and out of focus then, sounds disjointed amidst the endless stench of pitch-fueled flames. Lancelot struggled to keep from sinking into the entreating darkness. He could not abandon Arthur to the man woman. She would hollow him out and devour him if left to her own devices.

"Just fade. You will both be the better for it."

Lancelot flailed his arm weakly in the direction of her voice, rolling onto his back as he struggled to draw air into his lungs. It became more difficult with each breath that he took, his lungs filling less and less each time. His legs and arms were beginning to feel numb, the sensation creeping inwards every moment.

His scream was little more than a pathetic whimper when the arrow moved for the third time.

"Somehow I don't think you should be doing that."

The voice wasn't Arthur's, but, more importantly, it wasn't hers either. Gawain wasn't his first choice as a rescuer, but he would do.

"Step away from Lancelot now before I feel the need to hit you with my axe."

Lancelot himself had been on the receiving end of that threat more times than he cared to recall, but it had never sounded quite so threatening before.

"Why would I wish any harm to the man who saved my life?"

"Why indeed?"

If they said any more, their voices faded to a hum that Lancelot could not longer decipher. The words were all mixed together in varying tones that Lancelot was sure meant an argument. The worried rumbling of Galahad's voice filtered in along with a gently probing touch around the wound, determining the extent of the damage. Fingers that occasionally pressed a little too hard for comfort.

"NO!"

The shout sounded as though it had been ripped from his chest, but it was close. Arthur was there.

Arthur's hands were on his face, turning it to the side. Warm breath panted against his cheek as fingers fumbled frantically at his neck.

"Stay with me, Lancelot. Please stay with me," Arthur pleaded. With him and not with his god. "Just stay with me."

Try as he might, Lancelot couldn't do anything except lean his cheek into Arthur's touch.


	2. Part II

Three days had passed and still Lancelot had not woken. The dead had all been buried and life was slowly beginning to return to the fortress, but no matter how hard he tried Arthur could not make himself leave his quarters where he had ordered Lancelot taken after the battle. What business that needed to be conducted was done in his rooms in hushed voices so as not to disturb the injured man.

Worried as he was about Lancelot's continued unconsciousness, even more troubling were Gawain and Galahad's accounts of what had happened. He could not believe that Gwynevere would attempt to kill Lancelot after he had risked his life saving hers. There was no reason for her to do so. There was a truce between them and the Woads. With the exception of Gwynevere, there still was. He and Merlin had confirmed it two nights before when they had buried their dead side by side. Their victory over the Saxons was only temporary and they needed to stand united if they were going to survive.

"How's he doin'?" Bors asked, his voice oddly quiet as he appeared at Arthur's door.

Arthur sighed wearily, his eyes never straying from Lancelot's face. "The physician assures me that he is no worse, but at the same time he is no better. The arrow very nearly struck his heart and what happened after only made things worse."

Arthur knew that Bors was already aware of this, but it was still something he found himself repeating time and again. No matter how often he said it, though, it never seemed any more true than it had three days ago when he'd run up to see Gawain with his axe leveled at Gwynevere's throat. That she had not attempted to plead her innocence only confirmed Arthur's fears: he had bedded a woman who had tried to murder his best friend.

"Blaming yourself will do you no good and he would be the first to tell you that," Bors said, nodding his head in Lancelot's direction. "Now off with you. Vanora ordered me to send you down to the tavern to get some hot food in ya. I'll stay with Lancelot until you return."

Arthur opened his mouth to protest, but Bors immediately shook his head.

"You know it'll do you no good. She'll just send Gawain and Galahad up next and all the ruckus of us hauling you out will wake sleeping beauty over there."

Still, Arthur hesitated. "If he so much as stirs…"

"I'll holler out the window."

The decision made, Arthur still hovered at Lancelot's bedside, unable to move away. He knew that Bors would look after Lancelot, he trusted the other knight implicitly, but still Arthur feared to leave Lancelot.

"I will return soon," Arthur murmured, running his fingers through the rumpled curls before sliding his hand down to cup Lancelot's pale cheek. "As soon as I am able I will come back."

Lancelot's response was not vocal, but when he turned his face into Arthur's palm he found it harder to step away.

"He will not wither away in the half-hour it will take to get some good food in you," Bors pointed out as he slumped down into Arthur's vacated chair. "Besides, it'll do the men good to see you out there."

Before he could change his mind, Arthur turned and strode from the room. Lancelot would be well looked after by Bors. Any of the knights would protect each other with their lives. Arthur refused to believe that it would come to that this time. Lancelot was recovering safely within Arthur's own rooms and Gwynevere was banned from the fortress. She would not be allowed to harm Lancelot on their own ground.

When he entered the tavern, Arthur was pleased to note that little seemed changed from before the Saxon invasion. The number of patrons was fewer, but the activities themselves were unchanged. Men drinking and gaming while women flitted about and chatted in their midst. The only thing Arthur found himself missing was Lancelot's presence. Even when he was doing nothing but drinking it was impossible not to notice the dark-haired knight.

"Arthur!"

The cheerful shout came from Galahad, raising a mug of ale in silent toast while he balanced a girl on his lap with his other hand. The smile on his face did not quite reach his eyes, but then they were all still reeling from the recent battle.

"How's Lancelot?" Gawain asked as Arthur sat down at the table the two Sarmatians had claimed as their own.

He was still shifting about on the bench when Vanora set down a bowl of stew, hunk of bread and a mug of ale down in front of him. Arthur nodded his thanks, the firm look he received from Vanora informing him that he was expected to eat every morsel she chose to set before him, hungry for it or not.

"Still alive," was the only response he could form when Gawain repeated the question.

Arthur wished for all the world that he could give a different answer. That he could tell them that Lancelot was awake.


	3. Part III

Sitting alone in Arthur's room was rather dull. Lancelot was still unconscious which meant there was no one to talk to and the only other pursuit available was reading one of the countless tomes Arthur kept in his quarters. Those were in either Latin or Greek and Bors couldn't read either. He would much rather have been down at the tavern eating and drinking, but someone had been needed to get Arthur out of the fortress. He needed to breathe fresh air again and hopefully get his mind off Lancelot's current predicament.

"You're just being stubborn now," Bors grumbled as he shifted about in the chair Arthur had brought up close to the bed. "And you're giving Arthur more gray hairs than he needs. He's blaming himself for this, too, which also isn't helping him any."

Bors didn't expect an answer, but it was still a strange thing to not have Lancelot immediately jump to Arthur's defense. Lancelot may have grumbled about some of Arthur's decisions over the years, but never about the man himself. Lancelot had spent many hours mucking out the stalls and doing other menial jobs because he had talked back to Roman officers who were belittling Arthur's affection for the Sarmatian conscripts. None of those Roman officers, though, had men as loyal as Arthur's because each of the Sarmatians knew that Arthur would willingly put their lives above his own.

"You'd better appreciate this because sitting here watching you sleep is about as interesting as watching the Romans flounce about on patrol... Well, except when they stumble upon a group of Woads and run screamin' as though they were babes afraid of their own shadows." Bors scratched at his chin, leaning back so that the front two legs of the chair rose off the ground. "I'll wager, though, that I can make a decent sum letting in all the women you've scorned in the area."

Yet even that did not produce so much as a twitch of the finger from Lancelot. The very whisper of it would usually have the corner of Lancelot's mouth quivering and his eyes darting about for the speediest escape.

"If he hadn't been so concerned about keeping you alive, I'll wager that he would've gutted that Woad bitch," Bors mused aloud, seeking to fill the continuous silence. "And his eyes when Gawain told him what he'd seen..."

_Bors approached at a slower pace, Tristan's body heavy upon his shoulders. He had heard Arthur's scream, his voice sounding as though it had been ripped from his chest. Arriving late though he did, there was still no mistaking what he was seeing. Lancelot was near dead and Gawain had his big axe leveled at the Woad bitch's throat. The defiance in her eyes spoke volumes._

"_Stay with me, Lancelot. Please stay with me," Arthur all but moaned against the top of Lancelot's head. "Just stay with me."_

_Never in the fifteen years that he had known Arthur had Bors ever seen him look so utterly broken. It was as though all the life had been utterly drained from him. A harsh breeze would have been enough to knock him down had Lancelot not leaned into his hand. As long as there was life in Lancelot, there would be life in Arthur._

"_What are we doing with her?" Bors asked, carefully shifting Tristan's body so that he could set him carefully upon the ground._

_Had Lancelot not continued to draw breath, it was possible that Arthur would have ordered her death._

"_She tried to kill Lancelot," Gawain spoke up, one hand moving form the hand of the axe to clutch at his side. "I saw her twisting the arrow about. She was tricking to stick it in his heart."_

_The Woad witch was utterly silent, but the hardness in her eyes was response enough. She would have killed Lancelot and felt no remorse over it._

Bors still didn't understand why Arthur let Merlin take custody of the girl when by all rights she should have been killed. To kill in battle was one thing, but it wasn't right to try and kill an unarmed man. Especially not when that man had just saved her life. Once Lancelot was well and able to give his account of the affair, Bors was certain that the Woad bitch would be put to death. One of them would put an end to her even if Arthur was unable to order her death. And he was certain that Arthur wouldn't protest it, either. All of Merlin's ramblings about Arthur's need to marry the Woad witch to unite their people were a load of horseshit. The Britons would either follow Arthur or be slaughtered by whatever Saxon hoard came next. It didn't take a sorcerer to figure that out. Marriage or no, the people would follow Arthur because he was their best chance of survival. Badon Hill had proven that.

"Now if you would just wake your ass up, he might not worry himself into a grave."


	4. Part IV

Arthur was exhausted. One look at his face and Gawain had been able to see just how utterly drained he was. He wouldn't have been entirely surprised to find out that Arthur hadn't slept at all in the past three days. The older man certainly looked it; sunken eyes bruised black underneath, pale skin with more lines than Gawain remembered and his entire body practically slumped with exhaustion.

Gawain was partially in awe over the fact that Bors had gotten him out of his quarters. Every bit of business Arthur had conducted over the past three days had been from within those rooms so that he would not be far from Lancelot. And while Gawain didn't doubt that Arthur would be concerned had any of them been as seriously injured as Lancelot, the fact that it was Lancelot made it something more.

"So what is going to happen here now that Rome has left?" Galahad asked, voicing the question that had been forefront in all their minds. "Are we going to stay at the Wall or head south?"

The question creased Arthur's dark brows as he smeared a hunk of bread through the remnants of stew in his bowl. "We can try and hold the north, but there are more settlements in the south. Better access to supplies as well. With the Woads as our allies the Wall is no longer necessary for our daily safety. However, we will wait for Lancelot to get well before the five of us decide what is to be done."

Gawain stared at him in confusion. "But you are our commander. The decision is yours."

For the first time since Badon Hill, Arthur's smile seemed genuine. "You are now all free men so decisions are no longer mine alone. Together we will all decide what comes next."

It felt strange to Gawain that he would have such strong sway, not in deciding his fate, but deciding the fate of others. For the past fifteen years he and the rest of the knights had done what was expected of them. Each had known that they could voice their complaints and concerns to Arthur, but ultimately the decision had always belonged to Rome. But now Rome was gone.

"So long as Bors can get his hands on some ale—"

"And intimidate the locals."

"—and intimidate the locals, I don't see him having much trouble with where we set up our base," Gawain said, arching a brow in Galahad's direction for the interruption.

Arthur chuckled quietly. "And what of the two of you?"

Galahad was the first to answer. "If it's warmer and has less snow and rain I will gladly move south."

"The same for me," Gawain spoke up.

After that, Arthur seemed much calmer. He didn't even protest when Vanora brought more food out for him. The speed at which he ate it was clue enough as to when the last time Arthur had eaten was. It was no surprise that Arthur wasn't taking excellent care of himself because it had always been Lancelot to coax him into eating and sleeping. Of course it didn't help matters much that Lancelot was currently sleeping in Arthur's bed.

And though he was at loathe to break the sudden calm that had fallen over Arthur, Gawain found that he could not stand the uncertainty any longer.

"What about the girl? What will happen to her?"

Sure enough, Arthur's expression took on a pained, haunted look. However, there was a resoluteness to it that could not be mistaken. Like all the others, Gawain himself was eager to see the woman dead for what she had done. And, unlike Arthur, Gawain would not have let her leave the battlefield alive. Not after she had tried to kill Lancelot when he had been utterly helpless. Luck alone had saved Lancelot's life when she had been moving the arrow about where it had imbedded itself in his chest.

"She is too dangerous to be let back out among her people," Arthur said at last, his posture hunching as he scrubbed a hand over his face. "I can either lock her away for the rest of her life or kill her. Anything else would put everyone here in the fortress at risk."

"Then why give her to Merlin?" Galahad demanded.

Arthur sighed deeply, resting his elbows on the table and cradling his chin in both his hands. "Because at the time we could not keep her contained here in the fortress. There were fires and other damages to see to. Not to mention the wounded. Merlin has so far kept his word to have her guarded. It will be another day or so until the cells are fully repaired. Once they have been, I will send men to the Woad camp to retrieve her."

Gawain leaned forward, meeting Arthur's gaze. "I'm going. I want to make sure that witch doesn't have a chance to escape."


End file.
